


Bittersweet and Strange

by BlueSkyFirefly



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSkyFirefly/pseuds/BlueSkyFirefly
Summary: "Beauty and the Beast" inspired AU.When a lost and tired Luka Modric seeks refuge in what looks to be an abandoned castle, he finds a world far beyond anything he’s ever known before. The furniture can talk, there’s a curse to be broken, and of course, there’s more to the Beast than meets the eye. It’s a tale as old as time, with a modern (or should I say Modren? …sorry) twist.
Relationships: Dejan Lovren/Luka Modrić
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Bittersweet and Strange

**_Chapter One - Once Upon A Time_ ** _  
_ _Even a tale as old as time has a beginning. This one, like many before it, begins with a lost wanderer in the dead of night, wandering into a world beyond his wildest dreams._

The thing about walking through a seemingly endless forest while a storm lashes down rain through the gaps in the trees is that by the end of the ordeal, you don’t know how many of the drops on your face are sweat, how many are stray bitter tears of frustration and how many are raindrops, but one thing you are sure of is that you are positively drenched. Luka Modrić, a humble man from a small village - although some may switch those adjectives around and come up with an equally accurate description - learned this fact in the middle of an autumn night as he finally emerged from the vast expanse of trees into a slightly less suffocating darkness and wiped his face.

“I find peace in the woods,” he’d often smile serenely at friends. “The soul is most at rest where nature has been untouched by man.” He cursed the sentiments under his breath, vowing to never utter them again. He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been lost, but judging by the changes of light he’d been able to discern through the thick canopy of leaves, it was at least two days and two nights.

Blinking a few times, he made out the shape of a castle in the distance, its silhouette outlined in moonlight, and fell to his knees in relief. He couldn’t even bring himself to care that he’d emerged miles from home, clearly in a neighbouring kingdom as the castle back home was bigger, lighter, and didn’t sit atop a hill like this one. All he cared about was the fact he’d finally found shelter. Somewhere to stay the night; everything else could wait until morning. Luka was hungry, wet, cold, tired and everything hurt. He picked himself up, and with the remaining strength he had in him, started a slow, steady ascent towards his destination.

His legs, having carried him as far as they could, collapsed beneath him the second he reached the door. As he looked up at the abandoned castle, with cobwebs in the corners of the great wooden doors and ivy growing rampantly around the crumbling stones, Luka let out something between a sob and a battle cry and let himself fall against the doors. _Oh well._ If nothing else, he could sleep in the doorway and try to find food and water nearby in the morning.

As his body slumped against the towering doors, though, Luka felt one of them shift slightly and, using a golden handle bigger than his head to pull himself up, from the ground, he decided to see if he could get inside. The question was answered for him when, prompted by his weight hanging from the handle, the door opened slightly with a creak that echoed through the night, startling what Luka assumed were either birds or bats, which flew through the velvet darkness around him with an eerie rushing sound and disappeared. Turning back to the door, Luka steeled himself and pulled as hard as his aching muscles would allow him, and the door opened wide enough to let him slip inside. As soon as he did so, he was blinded by light and left reeling, part of him wondering if this was Heaven, if maybe he didn’t make it out of the woods after all. But as his eyes adjusted to the glow, he realised that the room had simply been illuminated by a colossal, exquisitely beautiful chandelier which hung from the ceiling, surprisingly free of the cobwebs and ruin of outside.

“Automatic lights in a decrepit old castle. What next?” thought Luka to himself, but thought no more of it as he dragged his feet slowly towards a huge, ornate velvet couch positioned beside the staircase that he assumed led to the rest of the castle. Making a mental note to explore more in the morning, he lay down on the velvet; comfort, bliss and the intoxicating fog of sleep starting to lap over his body in gentle waves. However, as he closed his eyes, another feeling crept up, pushing the rest to the side: a desperate thirst. He sighed and sat upright, looking around to see if he could locate any source of water before actually separating himself from his resting place.

When he first set eyes on the ornate tea set, almost out of sight in the corner of the foyer, Luka blinked hard, not quite allowing himself to believe it was real. He must be dreaming, or seeing things, but no, as he got closer, he found a basket of tea bags of every flavour he could imagine, and beside it, a white teapot, intricately decorated with light blue and gold paint, with a matching teacup. Luka reached out a trembling hand and traced the decoration on the teapot with his fingertips, admiring the opulent details. As he ran his finger along the spout, a short, sputtering jet of water erupted from it, scalding Luka’s slender fingers. “Shit,” hissed Luka under his breath, then, realising through the fog of his mind that the hot water suggested someone was home, he stumbled backwards, swearing again, significantly more loudly than before. Before he could turn to run, however, he was stopped by a voice.

“Keep your filthy hands off me, whoever you are!”

Luka didn’t process the words at first, looking around wildly to see who had spoken to him, but slowly, a realisation dawned on him, freezing him to the spot. Keep your filthy hands off _me,_ the disembodied voice had said – not _my stuff_ , not _my castle_ … _me._ The only thing he’d touched – _no. Impossible._ Luka tried to shake off the ludicrous idea, but somewhere deep within his hammering heart, he knew he was right. He turned his head slowly to face the teapot, and sure enough, it spoke again.

“You look like a drowned rat, and your hands are freezing and covered in all sorts. Then you go and say the most despicable things about my mother! Learn some respect, scarecrow,” it huffed, visibly turning away from him, its spout pointed indignantly in the air.

Luka screwed his eyes shut tight, hoping to snap himself out of whatever sleep deprived hallucination he was experiencing, but they snapped open again when he felt something land shakily on his shoulder. He turned his head, jagged breaths catching in his throat, and came face to face with the little teacup. “Sorry about-“ the teacup began, but its apology was cut short by Luka letting out a scream several octaves higher than anything he’d ever heard come from his own mouth before and tripping over his own feet in his rush to escape.

He crumpled to the ground, bring the cup crashing down with him; he swore he saw it flip and try to land safely, but it failed, landing with a crack that made Luka’s stomach sink. He scrambled across the floor and cradled the teacup in his hands, noticing a small chip that wasn’t there before. “I’m so sorry,” Luka gasped. “Did that – did it hurt you? Can I help you? What _are_ you, anyway?”

“Well, it wasn't exactly my idea of fun, but I didn’t feel anything, if that’s what you mean,” said the teacup, and Luka noted that its voice was that of a softly spoken man. “It’ll be a bit of an inconvenience, and I do hope I don’t have a chunk of my ear or something missing when… well, when this is over. But I’m fine. I shouldn’t have startled you like that, I just wanted to apologise for Ante’s rude welcome.”

“Ante?” asked Luka, trying his hardest to ignore the absurdity of the fact that he was holding a conversation with a piece of crockery.

“Sorry; the teapot. We still use our names among ourselves. There’s a bit of a situation, you see. We were all human once, friends of the Prince. Then one day, a sorcerer comes by, threatening all sorts, and the Prince, not believing in magic, made a whole song and dance – literally – out of mocking him before the entire kingdom of Vatrenia. And, well, now we’re here.”

Luka’s head spun so fast he thought he might collapse again. At least he knew where he was – Vatrenia – but he never thought the stories about this place might be true. There really was a curse, and not only on the Prince, but also on Ante, who somehow became a teapot, and this poor teacup once known as…

“What’s your name?” Luka asked softly. It was the only question he thought he might be able to handle the answer to right now.

“Andrej,” replied the cup, and Luka returned the nicety, introducing himself awkwardly, unsure how to proceed.

“You mentioned the Prince of Vatrenia,” said Luka to the cup – Andrej – as he set him down next to his far less friendly companion again. “At home, he’s just a myth. A fairytale, you know, those who believe this story are called conspiracy theorists and laughed out of town. But there are whispers… some say he became Baphomet himself. Is that true? What happened?”

“Well, not exactly, but I think you should get out of here before you find out,” the cup replied in a lower, hushed, urgent tone.

“A little late for that,” the teapot chimed in, turning back to face Luka, speaking for the first time since it – _he_ – chastised him.

Luka’s heart sank. “What do you…” he began, but he allowed his question to trail off as the sound of hooves against the marble floor echoed around him, answering it definitively. He dug his nails into his hands, silently begging himself not to scream, and raised his eyes. At the top of the stairs, looking directly down into his eyes, stood a beast. Luka understood where the hushed whispers had come from; the being in front of him stood seven feet tall, with elegant spiral horns making him taller yet. He was enrobed in a long, deep red cloak, but everything Luka could see was covered in thick, dark fur except those cloven hooves.

The beast let out a low growl and lunged forward, and Luka realised that he’d been staring for a second too long. As he snapped back to reality, he spun on his heel towards the doors and did the only thing he could: he ran.


End file.
